Update: Friday at Da Shiensh Musheum

One of my very best friends and I have a huge crush on Science. Science makes us walk, talk, sleep and eat. Science even makes us drink too much. When that happens, my friend gets her childhood lisp back. And then Science becomes Shiensh. (Click on images to make them bigger...I don't know how to use my computer apparently??)

Friday, I went to the Fernbank Museum of Natural History and the Planetarium. It was AMAZING! We fought dinosaurs.



And we kissed dinosaurs.



And we took pristine touristy pictures with dinosaurs!



Oh, and I met a crocodile.



It Was AWSHUM!

Post-cocktail Thought-foolery

He sits in the chair, alone, his skin bleeding. The blood performs to the melody of the buzzing of the tool in her hand, but all he hears is the sound of a fallen cocktail glass, breaking into shattered pieces. He realizes the irony of life; the searching out of meaning is juxtaposed to the never-ending wish that he can forget all that he has learned.

Some moments ago he wanted happiness. He would have done anything to attain it; howling shrilly for it, sobbing, in fact. No one answers his desperation. No one ever has, though he has answered for others’ cries. The intense sobriety of the realization is too much for any one to fathom for more than a few seconds. Some try to drink it away. Some smoke it. Others blow it. Still others sell it or buy it. But he sits in it for hours, days, months, even years, paying therapists to describe it for him. It does not go away, always rearing its ugly factual and analytical face. It is a beautiful face; when it appears in a painting or on a stranger across the aisle of the subway, or in the words of a friend, printed on pages of hope. Now, it only urges him to forget that it exists. Tattooing the words and memories on his skin, so as not to forget to forget them.

------------------------

What would you do if I sang out of tune during a walk to remember that all you need is love? I am the egg man singing silent night over the river and through the woods to find an oxford comma. But it’s over the rainbow and I can’t find it.

And honestly, I doubt if there ever is or ever will be a rainbow.

------------------------

He once told her that he entertained the ideas of suicidal contentment. She concurred with his ideation, though she pays bankers thousands of dollars for an education that ethically binds her to report such a discussion. She bought it but doesn’t buy it now, and wonders how she’ll ever be the kind of person who can help others when she can’t even help herself without becoming the need of others want over cookies and milk. Her therapist disagrees, but what the fuck do therapists know?

Sleeping...

....It's my favorite.

The last four days were made of amazing magic.

1. The Science Museum.
2. Sewanee.
3. Chillin with the BFF.
4. Drinkin lots of Beer.
5. Eating Lunchables.

But now I am les tired. There will be updates and synopses later about said weekend, but for now...I am grumpy with exhaustion and have 9 days of Publix ahead of me. *Gag*

Listen or Don't...I'll just keep on talking anyway

Today, during the longest work shift ever, I lost my internal brain filter again (due to wariness and fatigue). I told people embarrassing stories about myself. I got sarcastic with old men customers. I hugged my mom and called her Mommy in front of everyone when she came to the store for sterno and shrimps. And then...It happened. It started happening right after lunch and It didn't stop until after I came home and took a nap. It was a huge ass Migraine.

I don't know if any of you have ever had a Migraine. But let me just tell you...boy howdy are The Migraines unpleasant. I thwarted it semi-effectively with about five ibuprofens and a Coke. This stopped the pain but the disorientation, dizziness, light sensitivity and audio sensitivity remained. I almost fell down twice while standing still. Several customers laughed at me. One of my co-workers even offered to hug me--which is a shock because I'm a huge bitch at work usually. Then another co-worker suggested that I see a neurologist. She thinks I have a brain tumor.

So, now to add to my stress levels...I'm pretty much positive that I have a brain tumor. Maybe I should have paid that extra 15 dollars at the eye doctor for the tumor scan. But I've always been afraid that the scanners they use to find tumors actually cause them...so I avoid them at all costs. (This is precisely why I have never had a breast scan*). But I will however, stand directly next to the microwave when it's on? Anyway...does anyone have a good neurologist they could recommend? K, Thanks!

*I think my filter is still missing.

meh...i can't think of a title..deal with it

rain patters
splatters
smatters
on the dreams of yesterday
inside my sleepy head
resting on this pillow of sorrow

the dreams are of a moving picture
like in films taking place in age old English castles
made of stony, ivy covered retaining walls
keeping secrets of children

but children do not reside here
they never have
and they never will
but the dreams are those belonging to children

they always have been
and they always will be

Je ne sais pas.

When I was twelve, I went to sixth grade orientation with a fear surrounding the use of hall lockers. My vice principal explained that using a hall locker is as simple as setting your VCR to record a movie on television. I've never understood how to use the VCR recording option, and I'm pretty sure that I now have a huge wall built up in my mind that forbids me from understanding how to record anything with the use of a VCR.

Tonight, I thought I'd try to get around this fear. There's a really important season long Mad Men marathon on AMC tomorrow. I've been trying to watch this show for the last few months, but I have to work tomorrow. So, I went to the store bought three 8 hour EP setting video cassettes and came home to attack the VCR fear. I've been in front of the technological devices for the last hour and a half with three different remotes and several cables and blinking lights and beeping sounds. It's official: I don't know how to do this. I'm really sad too, I might just call in sick tomorrow so I can stay home and watch my marathon. But then I won't be able to pay myself back for these useless video cassettes. BLAH!!!

Help. I'm les tired and really frustrated.

I am Publix's Bitch

I am so seriously over being Publix's Bitch. Note that that is now an official position, as it is capitalized. As in, I may require a special name tag. As in, people will begin asking for the location of my office, and that office shall reside halfway between the bucket room and the trash shoot.

Anyway, someone forgot to do chores today, so in addition to my own chores (cleaning coffee pots, running a store sweep, vacuuming the vestibule, filling plastic bag holders, filling cleaning bottles and wiping baby seats) I also was assigned garbage duty and cart collection duty.

Now, don't get me wrong, I am willing to do anything to earn a paycheck at this point in my life, but it would be nice to not be walked all over by my employer. So, somewhere between getting covered in garbage juice* and having my boss** remind me of all my duties several thousand times, I kinda went a little crazy (and also got a little neurotic about all the germs I was coming into contact with) and put on some rubber gloves and did a little Michael Jackson dance. I also smoked an illegal cigarette when I went out for cart collection duty. Hopefully, none of these forbidden behaviors will have been captured on a security camera.

I'm gonna go eat stuff cuz it's all I can think of to with which to compensate myself for such a terrible Friday night.

*the fluid at the bottom of garbage cans
**idiot who is younger than me and has not a college degree

Random farmland makes me giddy...

This is where I'm going today.

Because it's beautiful.

"i have never felt so corporate as that day. even though, technically, the government is not a corporation." --The Britt

The Britt recently traveled to DC to make sure it didn't sleep alone tonight. Well, actually she went for touristy self-indulgent reasons, which I totally condone.

1. So, You recently went to the Federal Reserve. Why?

I had an interview for the position of Assistant Technical Editor. I found this job posting on USAJobs.com and applied back on May 19. At that time, I was applying for almost anything with "editor" or "writer" in the title, in any city where I thought I might possibly ever want to live. Though I'm actually moving to NYC next month, I accepted the interview. I wanted the interview practice, and also, my theory is, if someone asks you if you want to come to the Federal Reserve, you say, "Yes." I can't imagine any circumstance in the future when I would ever be able to go again. I like to think of the whole experience as a unique, surreal and fascinating tourist outing. After I was done with the interview and got some lunch, I went to the National Gallery, and looking around at the other tourists, I am fairly confident that I was the only one there who had been to the Federal Reserve that day. I mean, Monet is cool and all, but relatively speaking, fairly pedestrian.

2. What did you wear? A green business suit?!

I wore a short sleeve gray jacket, a gray striped skirt that fell below my knees, sensible black heels, and pantyhose (not kidding here), all purchased at Kohl's on my mother's Kohl's credit card. I also wore a short sleeve white button-down shirt from Ann Taylor Loft, purchased in a frantic haze because I hate picking out clothes, and the store was about to close for the evening. I probably also wore minimal jewelry, maybe some low-profile earrings and a necklace. I was attempting to look professional, and I didn't want to sport too much bling. I did not wear make-up. I never ever wear make-up, because it makes me feel like a drag queen, and I was already wearing the heels and skirt and pantyhose.

3. Who did you meet?

I'll omit last names since I'm assuming your website is publicly available.

Before traveling to DC, I spoke on the phone to Dustin, who is charge of travel arrangements, because apparently when you interview at the Federal Reserve Board, they are supposed to take care of that sort of thing. I drove up there the day before the interview, but I can submit forms for reimbursement for mileage and metro fares.

Other than an initial stream of security personnel, I met and talked with six different people during the whole interview process, which took nearly 3 hours. I arrived at 11:45 am for a 12 pm appointment and had to show my ID to two guards outside the building before I was allowed to enter the building. Then I was given a yellow badge that declared that I must have an escort at all times and went through the metal detectors.

First I met with Annita, who I thought was going to be the main interviewer, but was actually a recruiter. The first thing we discussed was the benefits package, which seemed backwards to me, but whatever. I mean, I hadn't even yet figured out what this job was actually going to entail. In case you didn't know, working for the government means you get some pretty sweet benefits.

Then I met with Rebecca, another recruiter, who was not aware that I was meeting with Annita and thought she was going to discuss benefits with me. Since I had already covered that stuff with Annita, I, basically, just sat in Rebecca's office quietly and read about economic policy until it was time for the real interview. One interesting detail was that Rebecca had a Super Recruiter action figure in her office. (Negative points for Rebecca's lack of knowledge are balanced by her Cool points for the Action Figure!!)

So finally, I met with Mary, who would be my supervisor if I took the job (although at the Federal Reserve, they're not called "supervisors," they're called "line leaders"). This was pretty much a basic interview, so I won't go into too much detail, but it was a bit of a challenge when I had to explain why I, a former academic with two degrees in English but never spent a day in an Economics course, thought working at the Federal Reserve would fulfill my "career interests."

Next I talked with two Technical Editors who work for Mary, Jill and Christopher. The point of this was for them to be "resources" for me and answer any questions I had. We talked some about the job and the FRB, but then we mainly talked about sports, though they didn't initially strike me as the types to be big sports fans. But really, they didn't know that much about sports. When I mentioned that I was from Durham, they thought that I loved the Duke Blue Devils AND the Carolina Tar Heels. It was appalling, and I cringed while explaining that I actually harbor a deep and eternal hatred for UNC basketball

Finally, I spoke with Mary's line leader, Joyce. This wasn't as intimidating as I thought it was going to be, but I was so tired and dehydrated at this point that I felt almost dizzy, making it understandably more difficult to be articulate.

A few more notes on the visit: the whole ordeal was so incredibly structured that I don't think the various parties even bothered to communicate with each other, or even with me. It took me a while to figure out what was going on and why. Most of the people I talked to didn't bother to explain what their job was or why I was talking to them, or what I was going to be doing next. Also, apparently it's protocol to give prospective employees a meal ticket to the FRB cafeteria, but I didn't know about it until they started apologizing for not having enough time to take me to lunch. For instance, Mary said, "I feel badly because we had promised you lunch," when in fact, they had not.

4. Did you see anyone important?

This is clearly a leading question, (yea, I know...that's how I roll) because as you are already aware, I got a lingering glimpse of the Chairman Himself, Mr. Ben Bernanke, the man in charge of regulating our entire economic system, the distinguished successor of Alan Greenspan. (oooh...ahhhh)

This is how it went down. (What had happened was...) I had been there for about 2 1/2 hours, and I was about to leave, which meant I was being escorted out of the building by Mary, since I had to have an escort at all times. At the last minute, she suggested that we go take a look at The Board Room, since she didn't think that there were any meetings going on that day. So we enter this circular (or octagonal?) foyer where there's (another) security guard. He looks at her ID, but then calls her back a moment later to sign in, which was weird, since she had never been asked to sign in before. So we walk through a hallway where there's a large impressive seal and I'm afraid to step on it. Mary says, "Oh, it's okay, you can step on the seal." And I have to explain that it was bad luck to step on the seal at Sewanee and now it's ingrained in me, Thou Shalt Not Step on a Seal. We walk though the double doors into a large impressive room where there's a long official-looking table and she explains about procedures of giving testimony and such things. And we look to our left where there's a doorway into a smaller adjoining room. And standing in the doorway was . . . Ben Bernanke!! I knew it was him right away because I'd been looking at the website with his picture the day before, and also Mary says, "Oh, there He is." And Ben Bernanke proceeds to close the door and then we don't see him anymore.

5. Was there wood paneling on the walls?

Wood paneling wasn't on my mind, so I wasn't looking for it, and thus my testimony might be flawed, but to the best of my recollection: No. There was no wood paneling on any of the walls at the Federal Reserve. I actually got to see two of the buildings that are located across the street from one another, which I walked between by means of an underground concourse, but there are other buildings in the DC area that might possibly have wood paneling. More on the underground concourse: I passed by a convenience store and a research library, and I was also informed that there is a dry cleaners and a gym down there. More on the walls: I think they were stone or concrete. The whole place seemed pretty classy. Art on the walls and stuff. The art on the walls of the concourse were of baseball players in action. When I went to see the board room (that's THE board room, mind you), there was a painting in the foyer of a barrel full of money. No joke.

More on wood paneling: it makes me think of a 1970's gentleman's club. So I would be disappointed if it were a key decorative feature of a major federal building.

6. Did you learn any secrets about our government's economic future?

Sadly, no. I really wanted to know if the whole sub-prime mortgage scandal was destined to sink us even deeper into an endless pile of shit, or if we actually are in a Recession, but such matters were alluded to briefly, abstractly and delicately.

I got to look at some publications that I would be working on (if I were actually to have the job of Assistant Technical Editor), and one series of reports were Restricted Access, so I only got to see the covers, which were green, because it was The Green Book.

7. If you are offered the job, and you accept, would you invest in a Green Suit?

This is a moot point, because I'm moving to New York in August to be Poor and Unemployed and Happy, but I guess it would depend on the shade of green. I suspect you imagine me decked out like Uncle Moneybags on Duck Tales, and despite my lack of fashion sense, I just wouldn't go there. Sorry.

8. What was the highlight of the experience?

Did I mention that I saw Ben Bernanke??

Also, the constant escort thing was fairly amusing, especially when I had to visit the ladies room. Probably the last time someone had to wait outside the door while I used the facilities, I was five years old.

Housewifery

I once read that if a housewife were paid for all the jobs for which she was a professional (the list included some 40 odd professions), she'd make over $700,000.00 a year.

This morn, I awoke to the chimings of my Superego. It said to "find scrub buckets and laundry detergent and to clean the house, dammit." So, I did. I have changed sheets today, run errands, done laundry, cleaned bathrooms, dusted, vacuumed and provided psychological counsel to a few individuals in need. Let's see, that's janitor, laundrymat, chambermaid, taxi, psychiatry and psychology. I was also a bartender for a bit...which leads me to this blog post. If today were a year, I would net something to the tune of $200,000.00, but that's just an estimate. Oh, and if today were yesterday (Sunday) you could easily add a bunch of fees to that amount.

Oh, and now...accountant/financial assessor. So, tack on another $40,000.00?? And possibly the profession of Women's Studies Educator, another what? $35,000.00??

Damn, I'm rich...I just don't know it.

Hi, my name is Bertha and I have the suckiest job ever.

Oh my God in Heaven, this day is never going to end, ever.

Nine hours on a cash register selling food to arrogant people who don't have senses of humor is like stabbing yourself in the eye with a rusty butter knife.

Highlights of the Day:
1. I went on break right when the Mother Down Pour of all Horrific Down Pours, ya know, down poured. But it's okay, because there were rain boots in my trunk and I definitely wore them all around the grocery store during my forty-five minute break. I looked like half garden lady/half grocery store clerk. It was quite The Spectacle.
2. Right when the giggles hit due to lack of sleep I got the most pretentious customer, ever. He was buying a pepper and I didn't know what kind of pepper it was, so I asked...duh? Hungarian Wax...excellent. "Sorry, sir, I just can't remember all of the twenty-something kinds of peppers we have". "It's okay," he replied. Then I was searching for the produce number on a tomato he was purchasing because like the peppers, there are about a gazillion different types of tomatoes at the store. He looked at me mid-search and says, "It's a tomato." Then he laughed at me. So, I looked right at him and in front of my boss and all the customers in my line and I mock laughed at him. Well, he didn't like that too much, but the lady behind him in line thought it was about the most hysterical thing she'd ever seen. I totally lost it and laughed with her. I apologized to him through fits of the giggles and he left. The lady behind him who was at that point my favorite person in the whole wide grocery world, proceeded to joke with me. My boss had some words about the situation after my line cleared. Did I care? No.

That's about it. I'm taking a nap dammit.

I. Hate. My. Job.

When was 5am invented anyway?

Only thing getting me out the door on time this morning (and I even danced some).

Kisses (of the sarcastically hateful variety),
Bertha

jackhammers and whirlybirds

B ad to the Bone
E nergetic, supposedly.
R adical, perhaps?
T antalizing and Tiring
H ot and cold?
A larmingly sexy.

I never did like Bermuda...

She's big and bad and rad.
She's breaking records.
Basically, she's a badass, but not for long?

For breaking news on Hurricane Bertha please tune in here.

Shout Outz to Heather Anne for keeping me informed on my saltwater tomfoolery.

Sewanee, TN

The air in Sewanee smells fresh and familiar. I think it's all the memories that get trapped here. The Sewanee breeze gets in your brain via your nose and ruffles your brain like when you shake out a picnic blanket and old crumbs from the last picnic you had fly into the air.

Seeing old friends two months after a life changing experience seems like it would be both uneventful and refreshingly comforting. It's not. That's not to say that it's not a great experience or that I'm not having a grand "vacation." It's just to say that it's an unpleasant reminder that my life is in a constant state of change and stickiness. But I do love these people, it's just that everything seems different. And I'm not sure I like it.

So, here's to change and stickiness, nostalgia and good friends that continue to wrinkle the memory stores in my brain.

Oh, and happy belated Fourth of July. :)

chores

Teaching two prepubescent siblings about how to clean a bathroom is like trying to stuff a wet noodle through a straw. It makes you want to knock your own self out with a hot iron.

First came the cleaning of the toilet. There was much of the following:

"EwWW!"

"I can't get this thing open!"

"Why?!"

and

"What do I do with this?"

Next came the cleaning of the shower. I educated them about mold and grout and how to not mix ammonia with bleach. Connor thought it would be cool to do it anyway. I turned on the fan. The shower is now mostly mold free, and we're all three breathing normally.

After everything was clean and I was happy with the results, Connor ran into Phoebe's bathroom and hocked a huge ass loogey into Phoebe's freshly cleaned sink. *sigh*

the lobster trilogy

Something is happening to me and I cannot keep it inside anymore. I am in the midst of a lobster trilogy. Let me explain.

Saturday night, I traveled downtown to hang out with my friend Stacey. We had a couple of beers and then headed to the lesbian bar, My Sister's Room. MSR is the kind of bar that play good music and serves moderately priced drinks. It is also, however, the kind of place that makes me extremely nervous. It has zero seating and a huge dance floor. Basically, if you can't dance...you don't belong there. For me, that is extremely difficult so I always drink too much when I go there. Six beers, lots of dancing, and four hours later, we were leaving. I had had a great time, but was way ready for bed. So, when we were on our way to the car, I ran into some girl. She was completely convinced that I was the girl that had previously been dancing with her blonde-headed friend. While I was trying to explain to her that I was, in fact, not that girl, I noticed something strange. The girl had a huge inflatable lobster hat on her head. I tried to excuse myself from the conversation but the lobster kept looking at me and shaking it's air-filled-lobstery-legs at me while she continued to talk. Finally, Stacey rescued me from the lobster girl.

Then, yesterday, I was working...like ya do. It was nearing the end of my shift. I was tired and grumpy, cranky and needing nicotine. There was a customer with some odd looking boxes on the conveyor belt. I wasn't paying much attention to the boxes. Mainly, I was irritated by them because the bar codes were on the tops of the boxes. I was tipping the first box over to ring up the bar code when suddenly (and all of this happened in a matter of approximately two seconds) I noticed the words "Live Lobster" on the side of the box. It occurred to me that I was tipping over a box filled with a living lobster. At the precise microsecond that I realized that, the lobster starting shuffling around in the box. I dropped the box and screamed like a little girl. Since this was happening at 5pm, and also at the exact moment that all the after-work grocery shoppers were standing in line to purchase dinner, about thirty people started laughing at me. I ducked down behind my register with embarrassment. Even the stupid bag boy was laughing at me.

As I recounted both lobster stories to my friend Joel yesterday, he prophecied that there would be a third lobster interaction sometime soon. He couldn't be sure that the third interaction would be good or bad, but he was sure that I shouldn't force fate. This reminder of fate was good because I was already thinking about purchasing Nantucket lobster shorts or maybe scheduling a dinner at Red Lobster, just to get the damn trilogy over with. But, I guess I'm just gonna have to wait for the natural arrival of the lobsters.